


push comes to shove

by rescuemechinboyandshowmethestars



Series: fuck the bourgeoisie [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: BLOWJOBS AND BANTER, M/M, and that is Good Fun and Porn With A Vague Plot, don't @ me about this fic just. enjoy yourself!, that's it that's the whole thing, vaguely established relationship as in alex and george are fuckbuddies and are extremely sentimental, weird power dynamics and less weird mutual sexual gratification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 05:24:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12646986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rescuemechinboyandshowmethestars/pseuds/rescuemechinboyandshowmethestars
Summary: George made the mistake of stopping before he got all the way to the bedroom and  looking back at Alex, who was tying the drawstring on his pants into a bow, his shirt riding up to expose golden brown skin and the one mole next to his right hipbone that George was very fond of licking. His hair was a mess. His cheeks were bright pink, his mouth red, his eyes glittering black and a little bit hungry. He was, unfortunately for George, slightly irresistible.“Alexander,” George said. Alex looked up, his hands still tangled in the drawstring. He raised an eyebrow. George licked his lips. “Come here.”Alex went, smirking. George grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the bedroom. He shut the door very firmly behind them.





	push comes to shove

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hamsquad™](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6133601) by [rescuemechinboyandshowmethestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rescuemechinboyandshowmethestars/pseuds/rescuemechinboyandshowmethestars). 



> i have...nothing to say for myself. if you've already read my other alex/george iii then you DEFINITELY know what you're getting here. if you haven't, either go do that or just enjoy the no-strings-attached fun here!! if you REALLY want a back story aside from that, go and read my other fic, hamsquad! good times ahead either way. also, many thanks to val, jim, and jasper for proof-reading this. i am fairly certain i would never get anything done if the three of you weren't always looking over my shoulder to make sure i don't fuck up too badly. love you long time.

“I’m not having sex with you in an airport bathroom,” George said. He had the phone tucked between his cheek and his shoulder, and Alex’s voice was a little faint, but George was pretty sure he’d heard him correctly. He was frankly not prepared to answer this question at three PM in the afternoon when he was about to get a snack.

            “What? Why?” Alex asked. George could hear the noises of a taxi honking in the background and the cyclical metallic clicking of Alex’s bike gears. He pulled the orange juice out of Alex’s fridge and sniffed. He decided it still smelled fresh, which was something to celebrate in and of itself, considering that Alex rarely threw out expired food without being reminded to. “Are you sticking your tongue in my juice bottle right now?”

            “I’m royalty, darling,” George said peaceably, raising the juice to his mouth and taking a sip. “I can stick my tongue in anything I want to.”

            “I volunteer,” Alex said. “Stick your tongue in me. Or on me. I’m not picky.”

            George spat a little orange juice back into the jug accidentally.

            Alex snickered. “I can hear you spitting juice out,”

            “I’m still unused to American candor,” George said drily. It was a lie, obviously, but George clung to his shroud of delicate British horror at poor American manners like babies clung to blankets.

            “Bull _shit_ , George,” Alex said fondly. His bike clicked louder and his breathing picked up a little; George assumed he was mounting a hill.

            “Yes, well,” George said. He shut the fridge door and took the orange juice with him to the couch. Alex had a succulent in one pot on the windowsill and a tiny pink flowering plant in another. He was going to hate leaving here. “I’m still not having sex with you in a public bathroom.”

            “People have sex in public bathrooms all the time,” Alex said. “What, you think Albert and Victoria never fucked in a bathroom? I have news for you, babe, ‘cause they totally did.”

            “Albert and Victoria were royalty, too. They could fuck anywhere they wanted.”

            “Does that not apply to you, then?”

            “Not quite,” George said. “I’m a, a, a duke, you know. Or something close to it. Not a king. Yet. Not important enough to chance sex in a public bathroom. And sex in an _American_ bathroom is out of my jurisdiction, so.”

            “It’d be _romantic_ ,” Alex said.

            “Darling, I can think of several things infinitely more romantic than sex in a filthy bathroom for people who fly on public planes, and one of those things is sex in a functioning bed, at your apartment, where I am staying, and where you live,”

            “Careful, George, your bougie is showing,”

            “Are we going to have an argument about me being rich every time we discuss sex?”

            “It seems like it,”

            “Did you have anything else to say, or can I hang up now?”

            “It’s spontaneous and exciting,” Alex continued doggedly.

            “I’m spontaneous and exciting,” George replied, affronted. “I don't need a sex act to make me spontaneous and exciting.”

            “Yes, dear, I know,” Alex said. “But we have to think of something exciting to send you back to London.”

            “We can't just have a party? I'll buy pizza and we can watch a movie and we'll get Peggy drunk and see what happens.”

            “Just because Peggy tried to scale the Empire State _one time_ ,” Alex said. “Does not mean we need to be getting them drunk every time we spend time together. You’re gonna get me in trouble with Eliza.”

            “That was _hilarious_ ,” George said. “It’s over a thousand feet high. You cannot tell me that somebody who's 5’5 and under a hundred and thirty-five pounds trying to scale it isn't funny. At one point, they were just slapping their hands on the side and screaming at the sky.”

            “It was _very_ funny, but Eliza was mad at me for filming it, even though I didn’t do anything with the video, so we can’t do that again,”

            “That’s perfectly understandable,” George conceded. “We’ll do something tamer, alright?

            “Okay,” Alex said. He was a little out of breath. George assumed he'd crested the hill. “That could be fun, yes.”

            “Then we're all set?”

            “I guess,” Alex panted. “Think about _my_ idea, though. Helluva way to send you off to London,”

            George made an outraged noise. “Illegal! It's an illegal way to send me off to London!”

            “That’s what makes it _fun_ ,”

            “Listen to me, you adorable hellion,” George said, trying his best to be stern and failing. “It would, in fact, be a hell of a way to send me off, but it’s inconsiderate and rude and gross and there's other ways for you to indulge the humiliation kink you insist you don’t have,”

            “Name one,” Alex said, pleased. “And for the record, George, shaming a shame kink is counterintuitive.”

            “You’re really quite vile, Alexander, did you know that?” George huffed. He put the cap back on the orange juice and wandered into the kitchen. He checked the fridge again. There was takeout from the night before, and a bag of prepackaged salad mix George had bought for Alex a week ago. Neither of them had touched it. George dug it out and ripped it open.

            “So you’ve said,” Alex replied lightly.

            “I’ll tell you what,” George said, weighing his words carefully so as to have maximum impact. “You can suck me off in front of a window with the curtains drawn back.”

            Alex swore noisily. “I’m gonna fall off my bike,” he said.

            “It’d serve you right for being a reckless biker,” George said unapologetically, tipping the salad into a bowl.

            “You’re complicit in this, you fop,” Alex grumbled.

            “Did you really just call me a fop?” George asked, barely withholding a snort.

            “Yes,” Alex said. “And I stand by it.”

            “Right,” George said. “In that case, I'd better let you go so you don't die because of my foppishness. _Alleged_ foppishness.”

            “Is that a word? Foppish?”

            “You would know,” George said. “You’re the wordsmith,”

            “Fopp-y? Foppistry? Foppacious?”

            “That’s--Alexander, you're making my head hurt. I'm hanging up now.”

            “‘Kay,” Alex said. “I’m not sucking you off in front of a window, by the way. You're gonna land yourself on the cover of National Enquirer that way.”

            “I’d do it for you, darling,” George simpered.

            “I’m touched,” Alex said dryly. “Goodbye, George.”

            “Goodbye,” George said adoringly.

            He went back to the fridge to hunt down some dressing. Alex would be home to bother him in due time, he was sure.

-o-

            “I’m back,” Alex announced, standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the afternoon sun splashing through the kitchen window.

            “So you are,” George said. He licked the vinaigrette (extremely old, suspiciously sour) off of his fork and turned to face Alex, whose cheeks were a lovely shade of pink from exerting himself and whose hair was artfully windswept.

            “How long have you been standing there?” Alex asked.

            George considered, and shrugged.

            “An eon,” George said. “Maybe longer.”

            George, with all the composed dignity of a foreign ambassador, offered his cheek to Alex for a kiss. Alex came over to him and wrapped himself, anaconda-like, around George’s body.

            “Don’t want the residual kale taste,” Alex explained, kissing the corner of George's mouth but staying away from his lips.

            “You malnourished heathen,” George said pleasantly.

            Alex pinched at George's side and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever,”

            “Will you eat a bite of salad if I have sex with you in an airport bathroom?”

            Alex reached for the bowl behind George and plucked out a spare piece of dressing-drenched kale.

            George tried not to cackle. “Heathen,” he said. Alex made a face and ate the kale.

            “There,” Alex said. “Nourished heathen.”

            “A heathen by any other name is still a heathen,” George said. “Nourished or not.”

            “Please,” Alex said, dismissive. “A single bite is the most I can take for any man’s sake,”

            “Even for my sake? I am no mere man, Alex, darling, I'm a _duke_ ,”

            “Even for your sake, you pompous ass,” Alex said. “It’s gross.”

            “‘It’s gross’,” George parroted, rolling his eyes. “What are you, five? It's _vegetables._ ”

            “I receive my sustenance from spite,” Alex countered. He pressed his face into the side of George’s neck. “I don’t need vegetables.”

            “You’re a git,” George said eloquently.

            “Speak American,” Alex teased, his mouth warm against George’s skin.

            “You’re a fucking idiot,” George said.

            “Can’t argue there,” Alex said.

            They whiled away the better part of the evening in the kitchen, planning the going away party in abstract terms. George already missed America.

-o-

            The day had come. George was forced to confront the fact that the summer was over, and he was returning to responsibility. (He confronted this fact by smoking two cigarettes and blinking away a few wistful tears while sitting on Alex's fire escape.)

            The going away party had been excellent. They’d planned it carefully, arranging it two days before George's departure, rather than one, so he wouldn't be flying with a hangover. It was an exceedingly wild night, involving a lot of weed (courtesy of Madison), several noise complaints (courtesy of Eliza), and, at one point, four bottles of hot sauce (courtesy of Lafayette). George didn’t recall most of it, honestly.

            George glanced at Alex, who was still asleep, sprawled out in bed, his skin gilded by the sun pouring through the window. Then he eyed his carefully packed suitcases and backpack, which were zipped and leaning tidily against the door. He elected not to think about it until he really had to leave the apartment.

            He washed his face and wandered out into the kitchen in search of coffee. Alex didn’t have a normal amount of groceries, but he did have bottled cold brew in his fridge, which George went about preparing and sipping, while trying not to stare out at the city morosely.

            The bedroom door creaked, meaning Alex was up. George had, in anticipation of this, prepared a cup for him.

            “Good morning,” George said politely, and held up the mug. Alex was as wordless as he usually was in the morning after receiving a normal amount of sleep. (George suspected that getting a full eight hours flipped some switch in Alex's brain that made him much quieter than he was on average.)

            Alex took the cup, kissed George on the cheek, and meandered out of the kitchen and into the living room.

            George turned off the kitchen light and followed him. They sat there, drinking cold brew in the faint light of the late morning. George really didn't feel like leaving. He was also still slightly hungover, despite having attended his going away party a full _day_ ago.

            It looked like he wasn’t the only miserable one. Alex was a little weepy. George could tell even though Alex had been hiding his face behind his mug very carefully.

            “Hey,” George said. “Don’t cry.”

            “Great,” Alex said. “My tears are gone now, thank you,”

            “Alex,” George said gently.

            “It’s nothing,” Alex said. His eyes were red. George didn't know if this was from crying or from the monumental hangover he was likely nursing. He knuckled at his forehead and sniffed heavily. His glasses lay beside his coffee cup, and he scooped them up to push them onto his nose and hide his face. “I’m gonna miss you is all, you British bastard,”

            George scooted over in his chair and kissed Alex's temple. “I’ll miss you too, you American asshole,”

            Alex huffed out a laugh. “Fuck you,”

            “We already crossed that one off our bucket list, pet, I'm afraid we'll have to think of something else,”

            “Jesus God, George,” Alex said. He wiped under his eyes. George grinned unrepentantly. “When’s your flight leave again?”

            “Two, dearest,” George said. He checked his watch. “It’s ten thirty now. The others are coming around eleven to see me off.”

            “Hmm,” Alex said. He’d stopped sniffling now, though his face was still puffy from tears. He took the glasses off again; his eyes were impossibly warm. “Want a proper send off?”

            “I thought you'd never ask.”

            “Always late, but worth the wait,” Alex said, amused.

            “Very true,” George said. “Be gentle, darling, my body is still 60% whiskey,”

            “God,” Alex said, close to a pitiful whine. “I _know_ , me too, but I don't have time to be pathetic and cry about it, because I need to give you an orgasm to remember me by,”

            “I could never forget you,” George said affectionately, beaming when Alex blushed.

            He pushed away from the chair and Alex grabbed him, buried his fingers in the hair at the nape of George's neck, and tugged George down to his height. Alex's lips were chapped against his own, warm and yielding when George nipped at them. George sank into him, reveled in the familiarity of Alex’s waist beneath his hands.

            Alex pulled him, bossy, questing, to the living room. He arranged George carefully to his liking against the wall. Butterfly pinned beneath glass, George thought. Alex thumbed at George's belt buckle and shot a smirk at him, brilliant, coruscant in the sun slipping through the blinds.

            George tipped his head forward for another kiss. Alex bit at his lower lip and dragged his tongue over the same place to soothe the sting. George sighed, wove his hand into Alex's hair (soft, vague hint of grease from a day or two of being unwashed), tugged at it just to hear the gasp slip from Alex's mouth. Alex, as always, kissed with the intent to devour. He used teeth and tongue like weapons in a military arsenal. Every brush of lips was a calculated strike to make his opponent crack. George rolled with the punches, as he found was wisest to do, and let Alex break against him like waves on the sand.

            Alex had an analog clock on the wall by the door, white plastic with a chrome strip bordering the face of it. It read ten thirty-five. They ought to keep things brief. George dropped his gaze lower, down to the front door. It was locked, and the chain was drawn neatly across the latch. Good.

            As if he was reading George’s mind about time constraints, Alex pulled back, bestowed a soft kiss on George's jaw, and, with no further ado, undid George's belt.

            “Here?” George asked. It was a question that was mostly for show. Alex had a Thing, George had rightly guessed, for being watched, or for nearly being watched but not quite. George supposed it came with a failure to have been seen as valuable for most of his adolescent life, but that was psychoanalysis, that was judgmental, and unnecessary at that. Alex had a Thing, and wanted to indulge that thing with George, which meant George had been granted a privilege he ought to use wisely. So George blinked his blue eyes down at Alex as innocent as they'd go and waited for an answer he surely already knew.

            “Problem?” Alex replied. It wasn’t at all a challenge. A check-in, really, a way out if George wanted it.

            George licked his lips. He weighed his answer. “No,” he said primly. And then, a second later, making it weighty with the inflection of entitlement that George knew how to wield like a weapon: “Go ahead.”

            Alex sank to his knees with nary a thud. Good answer, George thought. There was very little risk involved in this for George. Front door was locked, blinds were shut enough that no one could look in, and even if they could see, no one would stop with binoculars to peer inside a sixth floor walk up of a nondescript apartment building on the right side of dingy. So: low risk, high reward. Tempting to better men than George, that was for certain. Alex got off on it anyway, George mused, enjoyed riding the razor edge of near dangerous thrill, sought pleasure in between the moments of stolen kisses and the click of a lock. Or, if he didn't, he did an Oscar-worthy job of pretending to enjoy it. It wasn't George's thing, personally, but he was generous, and willing to indulge his partners on a great many things. George looked down at Alex. Alex pulled George's belt (expensive, fine silver buckle unobtrusive against sleek black leather) from the loops of his jeans and dropped it on the floor, blinked up at George like he threw around five hundred dollar belts for the fun of it every day. George brushed his thumb along Alex's right cheekbone and hummed.

            “Go on,” he said, smiling.

            “I was gonna,” Alex said petulantly. He undid the button on George’s jeans, leaned in and caught the zipper with his teeth, tugged it down. His eyes, near black and wide, were fixed on George. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of George's briefs and pulled them down. From nowhere, he produced a condom and tore the wrapper.

            “Were you carrying a Magnum around in your fucking bathrobe all morning,” George said, bordering on incredulous.

            “Fortune favors the bold,” Alex said unrepentantly. He pinched the top of the condom and rolled it neatly down George's dick. “Boy Scouts, and all.”

            “That’s definitely _not_ the Boy Scouts slogan,” George said disbelievingly.

            “You’re not American,” Alex said. “What do you know? Hush.”

            “Excuse me, darling, but we've got British Boy Scouts,” George objected.

            “You want your cock sucked or not, asshole?” Alex said crassly, delighted when George wrinkled his nose. He bent forward to kiss the pale skin of George's hip exposed beneath his briefs.

            “Please and thanks,” George said politely.

            Alex rolled his eyes and ducked his head. He caught the tip of George's dick on his tongue and widened his mouth to accommodate. George let breath rush from his lungs as though it'd been torn from him, his head falling back with a dull thump against the wall.

            Alex pulled back and said, “Careful,”. His voice was light, clearly teasing. In that moment, George felt very fond of him.

            George composed himself and said, without deigning to look down, “Go ahead, Alexander,”

            Alex went ahead. He made a noise in the back of his throat and dipped down, fit his mouth neatly around George's cock and sucked, careful, meticulous, sliding down ever further. George moved his hand and put it in Alex's hair. He didn't pull, because that was exactly what Alex wanted and George was very much in the business of keeping Alex on the edge of his seat. He'd never be satisfied, George was aware, and it was almost funny to keep him teetering on the edge of fulfilment.

            The clock ticked steadily, a metronome keeping the beat to a dangerously intense dance, and George couldn't help but choke when Alex got his mouth nearly to the base of George’s dick. He made a truly obscene picture; Alex's mouth was pink and kiss bruised, reddening in the middle and slick with saliva, held wide open, and _God_. George contemplated the situation and decided he must have done something unfathomably good in a past life to deserve this. As George watched, Alex's hips rolled up against nothing, stuttering in mid air for want of friction, his hand inching up to undo his fly.

            “Darling, don't touch,” George said mildly. Alex dropped his hand and looked up, bewildered. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I think you rather like having me boss you around, don't you?”

            Alex rolled his eyes and put both of his hands firmly on George's hips as if to say, _fine, are you happy now_?

            “Very good,” George said patiently, as if rewarding a well mannered dog with a treat.

            Alex moaned outright and resumed sucking in double time, as if this scrap of praise was absolutely dizzying. George thought he was frightfully attractive on the floor like that, a very charming wreck on bended knee. There was something in the most primordial part of his brain, the part governed by atavistic urges, that enjoyed the sight an unreasonable amount.

            And Alex was _good_ , too, not sloppy but with his mouth very wet, and his right hand moving off of George's hip at times to stroke what his mouth couldn't reach. George wanted very much to maintain the unruffled posh facade for him, he _did_ , but it was _so_ hard to do when there was someone on their knees in front of you who only wanted to please you. George was only human, after all, albeit quite a prim and proper human with some latent control issues that sometimes manifested themselves sexually. He couldn't help but moan, he really couldn't.

            Alex pulled back, pulled off completely, and said, hand twisting up and down George's cock like it was second nature, “The neighbors are going to complain, George, don't be so loud,”

            “Then you'd better hurry it up,” George said politely, his voice sounding slightly ragged even to his own ears. “Don’t you think? Haven't got all day, have we?”

            “Christ, you're bossy,” Alex said, looking pleased, his eyes dark and glittering.

            “I’m not going to be trite and say that you like it, but,” George said. “It seems like you like it.”

            “Yes,” Alex said, smirking. “You’re right,”

            “Carry on, then,” George said sweetly. “You’re exceptional.”

            “Shut up,” Alex murmured, but he opened his mouth again anyway.

            George put his hand in Alex's hair again, and this time he did pull, not as sharply as Alex would probably like, but with sufficient effort regardless. Alex hummed with delight. He couldn’t quite fit George’s entire cock in his mouth (although he got quite close). George did not in any way begrudge him this. He made up for it in sheer enthusiasm. George felt, rather than saw, Alex's nose brush his stomach before he gagged a little in defeat and pulled back for breath, resulting in one glorious moment of perfect heat and several following seconds of a long, slow drag off of his dick and back down again. Alex didn’t try to go all the way down again, but. Jesus fuck.

            It went on like that for God knew how long, Alex licking and sucking and making obscene, disgusting, horribly arousing noises while George leaned against the wall and tried not to completely lose his mind, tried to be polite and not roll his hips up even though that was all he wanted to do. It felt like hours, days, years, a millennia of pleasure washing over George all at once.

            “Fuck, Alex,” George choked out. “Fuck, I’m--can I--”

            Alex pulled back again with a wet pop and said, his voice cracked, “Yes, yeah, do it,”. He leaned forward and _licked_ and George instantly, unrestrainedly, fell to pieces beneath his attention.

            His knees were weak, and he was about ninety percent certain that at some point during that orgasm he’d gone to a different astral plane. Quite a testament to Alex’s formidable skills. Alex was on his knees, still, politely putting George’s dick back into his pants with the condom rolled up and tied off and sitting in a gross heap next to his right leg. George sighed once, twice, tried to compose himself so he could reciprocate. Alex sat, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, and waited.

            “That was very nice, thank you,” George said, aware of how ridiculous he sounded and yet having nothing else to say.

            “You’re welcome,” Alex said, suppressing a laugh and trying to sound serious.

            “Come here, darling,” George said. He bent and hauled Alex up to eye level. Considering logistics, he flipped their positions and pressed Alex up against the wall. Alex shuddered and tipped his head back, his hands scrabbling in the fabric of George’s shirt to get a grip. “Not a lot of time left over for you, is there?”

            “I don’t care,” Alex said, his eyes liquid, fierce. His mouth was still wet with spit. “I don’t care, please, just--”

            “It’s okay,” George murmured. He nudged Alex’s thighs apart with his knee. “There’s _enough_ time, just not a _lot_ ,”

            “Semantics,” Alex huffed.

            “Oh,” George said. He held his hand out, palm up. “Sorry, I'd forgotten--be a dear and spit, won't you?”

            “Gross, George, I’ve got lube,” Alex said. “Bedroom, I think. And I keep a bottle under a couch cushion. In case.”

            “Fetch, then,” George said, grinning. “Condom, too, please,”

            “Got it,” Alex said. He kissed the corner of George’s mouth quickly and ducked away, extricating himself from George's arms to rummage in the couch cushions.

            George entertained himself by watching Alex’s ass while he looked for the lube.

            “If you want to make yourself useful,” Alex said, elbow deep in the couch. “You can get the condom from underneath the coffee table,”

            “No thanks, darling,” George replied serenely. “View’s good from where I am. I like watching you doing the work on my behalf.”

“Monarchy enforces such weird psychosexual issues that relate directly back to your control freak-ness, you know, George,” Alex said, unimpressed. “It’s not radical praxis to make your fuckbuddy pull more than their fair share of labor,”

            George laughed. He was irresponsibly enamored with Alex. “Still a good view. Carry on,”

            “Fuck you,” Alex said brightly.

            “We covered this earlier, darling,” George said peaceably.

            “You’re an idiot,” Alex said. “I can't believe I let you near my dick,”

            “Honestly, I've never heard that from you before,” George said petulantly. “Are you getting tired of me?”

            “Don’t fuss,” Alex said, emerging triumphant from the couch. “Never.”

            He tossed the lube at George, who caught it deftly, and crawled over to the coffee table. He ducked his head, felt along the inner rim of the table, and produced a condom, still covered slightly by the strip of packing tape that must have been holding it there. George was torn between delighting at the sight of Alex bent over on hands and knees and being slightly horrified about the amount of sex supplies Alex had made a habit of stashing in bizarre places.

            “Alex,” George said tentatively.

            “Don’t start,” Alex chided. He popped back up to his feet and came back over to George, allowing himself to be pressed against the wall again, wrapping his arms around George’s neck and letting his thighs fall apart easily. “I’m safe, at least,”

            “At least,” George agreed, deciding not to judge, since it benefited him immensely. “Condom, please, dear,”

            Alex handed it to him. George ripped it open neatly and plucked it from the packaging. With his free hand, George tugged at the drawstring of Alex's sweatpants and fussed with his underwear, got it down easily. He pinched the tip of the condom carefully and rolled it down over Alex’s dick. Alex squirmed even from that brief contact.

            “Lube, please,” George said primly. Alex rolled his eyes at George’s tone, but popped the bottle open anyway. He unceremoniously poured some into the palm of George’s hand. Always obliging, George wrapped a loose fist around Alex's cock. Alex gasped like he'd been burned and his forehead fell forward against George's own. Poor thing, starving for it. George was so lucky.

            “It’s okay,” George said comfortingly. “I’ve got you,”

            “I swear you’re one step away from calling me a pleasant little fellow and patting me on the head,” Alex snarked, his mouth an inch away from George’s own.

            “If that would get you off,” George said, as nicely as possible, smirking when Alex grimaced.

            “You’re gross,” Alex said.

            “I really could just leave you like this, Alexander,” George said. He thumbed the head of Alex’s dick just to hear him gasp. “You ought to be more polite, you know. Manners maketh man, pet, don’t I always tell you that?”

            “Fine, then, _please_ finish jacking me off,” Alex said, his voice saccharine to the point of imprecation.

            “Hmmph,” George muttered. “Do you always get your way, you incredibly rude creature?”

            Alex looked pointedly at George's hand wrapped around his cock. “Usually,”

            “The disrespect,” George huffed. “Dare I say, the _audacity_ ,”

            “George,” Alex said.

            “Yes, darling,” George said, tightening his grip.

            “Be quiet,” Alex said.

            For once, feeling vaguely obedient, George tipped his head down and caught Alex in a kiss, licked into his mouth, moved his hand up and down rhythmically just to hear Alex whimper. Alex being incredibly demanding was, in large part, the driving force behind his appeal. George was very used to getting what he asked for (or sometimes didn't ask for, and took, instead). Frankly, Alex seemed to have very little interest in genuinely heeding him, and probably only did half the things George told him to because he was aware there'd be sexual fulfillment somewhere down the line. There was something about how charming and simultaneously endlessly greedy Alex was that George admired and was embarrassingly sort of turned on by.

            “George,” Alex panted.

            “Hmm?” George hummed pleasantly, as if he'd just poured Alex a cup of tea and was offering him a watercress sandwich, and not at all like he had Alex slammed up against a wall nearly begging for release.

            “Can I--please, _God_ , can I,”

            “What time is it?” George interjected absentmindedly, his hand working up and down. He bent to kiss the side of Alex's neck, to dig his teeth into the spot right where Alex's pulse thrummed against his skin, fierce and wild.

            “ _God_ , does it _matter_ , can you just get me off,” Alex said, not even a question.

            “I’m seriously considering it, pet,” George said drily. He drew back from Alex’s neck. “What on earth do you think I'm trying to do to you right now?”

            “Whatever it is, you're doing it too slowly,”

            “Oh, Alex,” George said. “Patience is a virtue you unfortunately never learned, I think,”

            “I could really just do this myself,” Alex whined, his wrist twitching as if to bat George's hand away.

            “That won’t be necessary, darling,” George said firmly. He kissed the corner of Alex's mouth, relocated his hands to Alex’s hips, and sank to his knees. There was, of course, the small matter of there being too much lube still slicked across the condom. George surreptitiously eyed the label and confirmed it was safe to orally consume before he leaned forward.

            “Oh, _God_ ,” Alex said, his eyes fluttering shut as if the mere _sight_ of George was too much to bear. “George, you on the floor on your knees should be illegal,”

            “I have very hardy joints, darling, don't worry,” George said patiently.

            “Do you know--uh--” Here he cut off into a gasp because George licked a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock.

            “Yes?” George inquired innocently.

            “Do you have any idea what you look like,” Alex said, words rushed out between a whimper.

            “Hmm,” George said, electing not to say any of the words that were coming to mind. He smiled at Alex, put his hand still wet with lube on Alex’s dick and moved it lazily, waiting for the banter to be over so he could get down to business. “Are you going to tell me?”

            “No,” Alex said, with some difficulty. (Difficulty which likely stemmed from George’s continued ministrations.) “You’ll have to use your imagination,”

            “I do have quite a considerable one,” George said, amused.

            “Imagination’s not the only considerable thing you've got,” Alex said, and grinned unabashedly when George made a face.

            “Yes, darling, do continue to be crass. I've got all day, really, I'll just sit here _waiting_ to suck your dick,”

            “Sorry,” Alex said, not even vaguely penitent. “Go ahead,”

            “Hmmph,” George said. He did, in fact, go ahead, because their time was running out and he was well aware of it.

            Alex slumped against the wall like a puppet with its strings cut when George put his mouth around his cock. George tried not to feel smug about this. Alex moaned. Loudly. Open mouthed. George glanced up at him. His head was tipped back. He had his teeth dug into his lower lip. George, despite his aforementioned efforts, felt smug about this.

            Alex was, George thought, somewhat average sized, which he noted not with malice but with delight, because it gave him the unique opportunity to relax the muscles in the back of his throat and slide his mouth all the way down Alex’s dick. Alex nearly keened, hands curled into fists at his sides. George, pleased, kept bobbing his head up and down for a moment, paying attention to how Alex’s hips jerked. He pulled back.

            “You can,” George said, his hand still working.

            “Can what,” Alex said, voice raw. There was a glint in his eyes that meant he just wanted to hear George say it.

            “Can fuck my mouth,” George said evenly, refusing to be cowed.

            “Oh, God,” Alex said. “Jesus. Fuck. God.”

            “Want to?” George asked, vaguely polite.

            “I mean,” Alex said, trying to match George’s facade of composure and failing miserably. His lower lip was bitten bloody. George felt something like hunger curl hot in the pit of his stomach. “Yes, please,”

            “I’ll squeeze if it’s too much,” George said, and put his right hand on Alex’s ass, which was uncouth of him, and which he was enjoying anyway.

            “Lame,” Alex said breathlessly.

            George laughed and put his head down. He used his left hand, put his fingers around the base of Alex’s dick carefully, opened his mouth. Alex, cautiously, pushed his hips forward. George got his lips around the tip, let his jaw go slack, batted his eyelashes up at Alex as if to say, _what are you waiting for?_

            Alex made a noise half between a sob and a moan and rolled his hips forward. George sat there and, for once in his life, took it. Distantly, George recognized that his knees were aching. He regretted lacking the foresight to put a couch pillow under them, at least. He had a good excuse for being distracted. Besides, all of Alex’s couch pillows were incongruously expensive gifts from Eliza (who’d gone to Crate & Barrel for them in a fit of pique after Alex refused to admit how gross his bordering-on-threadbare couch looked without any pillows), who would probably be sad if George got them dirty and dented by kneeling on them. There would not be a good way to explain that the one printed tastefully with gold flowers was a casualty of war, war being George getting his mouth rather thoroughly fucked by Alex.

            “Okay?” Alex interrupted his train of thought, stilling.

            George thought he’d been lewd enough for one day, and therefore hummed agreeably in response, rather than pulling back to say something. It _was_ good; Alex was very gentle, which George should have anticipated, but had not, and was thus somewhat touched by.

            “Okay,” Alex said. He wiped at the corner of George’s mouth with the corner of his thumb. It struck George as oddly perfect how tender Alex was. He tried to breathe through his nose and not get too sentimental.

            The rhythm of it--George’s fingertips digging into Alex’s skin, Alex choking out ragged moans, Alex’s hips rocking in stuttering starts and stops, George’s jaw complaining in protest--was incredible. George couldn’t see the clock in this position, obviously, could only hear it ticking, didn’t know how long it took, but it felt like another eon, a good one, one spent in a pleasurable haze. He didn't want to leave, not ever. He couldn't say that; there was something dangerous in saying it. He'd be quiet. He'd enjoy this while it lasted.

            “I--I’m,” Alex said, and that was all he could manage. George blinked somewhat encouragingly at him, and accepted the last thrust of Alex’s hips with his mouth lax and open.

            He pulled free and immediately popped his jaw, which was threatening to be sore right that very instant. A souvenir, he’d call it.

            “Jesus,” Alex said fervently. “Shit.”

            “My sentiments exactly,” George agreed.

            “Are you good,” Alex breathed, his eyes still closed.

            “Yes,” George said. Ever courteous, he carefully pulled the condom off of Alex and tied it neatly.

            “Give me--fuck--one second, I’ll get you some water,” Alex said. “With ice? Okay?”

            “You’re such a polite host,” George said adoringly. He pushed himself up, felt something creak in his knees, ignored it in favor of draping himself over Alex to kiss him.

            “You have lube on your mouth,” Alex observed.

            “I just had your dick in there, idiot,” George said, his voice a little cracked. “Get over it,”

            “Touche,” Alex said. He pulled George close, kissed him softly once, twice. “Hey, George?”

            “Yes, darling,” George murmured, occupied by kissing the length of Alex’s jaw.

            “It’s almost eleven,” Alex said. “People are gonna be here,”

            “Fuck,” George said. He put his face in the crook of Alex’s neck. “Damn it. Fuck.”

            “I mean, _I_ wouldn’t mind being caught _in flagrante_ , but--”

            “Disgusting creature,” George said fondly. He pulled back. “Put your trousers on. I’m gonna get my suitcases.”

            “You sure, George? I could go for another round,”

            “Oh, I’m _sure_ you could,” George retorted, eyeing Alex with a small amount of judgement and a healthy amount of lust. “I like to keep you on your toes. That’s enough for one afternoon.”

            “It was, like, not even close to enough,” Alex countered. “There’s still gas in the tank,”

            “Insaaaatiable,” George sing-songed, scooting away from Alex reluctantly. “Bring me water, please,”

            “Fine,” Alex said, hitching his sweatpants around his hips.

            George made the mistake of stopping before he got all the way to the bedroom and  looking back at Alex, who was tying the drawstring on his pants into a bow, his shirt riding up to expose golden brown skin and the one mole next to his right hipbone that George was very fond of licking. His hair was a mess. His cheeks were bright pink, his mouth red, his eyes glittering black and a little bit hungry. He was, unfortunately for George, slightly irresistible.

            “Alexander,” George said. Alex looked up, his hands still tangled in the drawstring. He raised an eyebrow. George licked his lips. “Come here.”

            Alex went, smirking. George grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the bedroom. He shut the door very firmly behind them.

            They were late to the airport. It didn’t matter. George flew private; they’d wait for him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> WELL...........HERE WE ARE AGAIN... again, still nothing to say for myself. i guess it's my duty to the public to occasionally churn out 6k+ works of fiction about long dead secretary of the treasury alexander hamilton getting worked over by king george iii. learn from my mistakes and don't follow in my footsteps. (or if you do, link me to it!) humbly yr most obdnt srvnt, @jamesmadisin on twitter and @irltrash on tumblr. kudos + comments feed ur author and help her grow so that she can continue to crank out garbage that you're conflicted about reading. xoxo see ya next time!


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